"It's all right. I've
travelled through them Sand Hills myself, and I know how it is.
You're welcome to all you took, and you can have another sackful
if you want to go after it."
I thanked him, but told him that we expected to get some feed
at Gordon, the next town. After wishing us good-luck, he rode
away.
We started on, and made but a short stop for noon, near
Gordon. We found ourselves in a fairly well-settled country,
though the oldest settlers had been there but two or three years.
The region was called the Antelope Flats, and was quite level,
with occasional ravines. The trail usually ran near the railroad,
and that night we camped within three or four rods of it. Long
trains loaded with cattle thundered by all night. We were
somewhat nervous lest Old Blacky should put his shoulder against
the wagon while we slept, and push it on the track in revenge for
the poor treatment we gave him in the Sand Hills, but the plan
didn't happen to occur to him. It was at this camp that we
encountered a remarkable echoing well.
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